Though I am useless miry clay
Yet I am still in My Master’s Hands
Though others look down and scorn seeing me
But still I rest in My Saviors Hand.
I may not glitter like the purest of gold
Or reveal the radiance like refined silver
Even though I may not posses even a polished texture
I still remain in My Potter’s hand
My Master never grows fatigue while working on me
Neither does He get fed up with useless clay like me
Day and Night He toils and works endlessly
To make me as His own precious masterpiece.
There are painful scrubbing & Tormenting fire
Many a time I fell and scream to retire
Still He smiles and says, “Not yet my dear still more to
go!”
And continues His diligent work of molding me.
One day I will turn to be my Master’s Beautiful work piece
Reflecting all that He planned and desired of me.
That moment I always long for.
To see My Savior delight fully in me!
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